


War and Constellations

by Miss_lestrudel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_lestrudel/pseuds/Miss_lestrudel
Summary: Deep talks and star gazing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: I don't know shit about war/history RIP
> 
> Also I wrote this like a year ago for my senior creative writing class; enjoy haha

             General Alfred F. Jones was nervous. Not just because he was in a trench in the middle of a war, but because there was a lull in the fighting. A shot hadn’t been fired in over two hours.

             Most people would find that calming – consider it a long-needed break, even— however, Alfred knew there was never a break in a war. This would just mean that the Central Powers would fight back with new vigor sooner or later; they were probably stocking up on ammo or getting in a better position. Why were they just sitting here? Shouldn’t they be getting the upper hand? _What’s this damn Brit thinking?_

             “How many soldiers on your side?” The British General, Arthur Kirkland, said as he shuffled next to him.

             _Speak of the devil._

“All accounted for, except one who we finally lost to blood poisoning.” He answered.

             “Mmm.” Arthur hummed, briefly surveying the land above the trench. “Alright _General_ Jones, it seems it’ll be a _long_ night.”

             With that, he tapped him on the shoulder and shuffled away to his own men.

             “Alright _General_ Kirkland.” Alfred smirked.

             It was common for the two to joke around, even if it was subtle. They’ve known each other since they were enlisted; although, Arthur was in the army two years prior to Alfred. Both are still baffled at how they got to the status of General, in their eyes they were just two idiots.

             Alfred still remembers the day Arthur was ranked a General – just one year before Alfred. He cried. Alfred remembers offering him a handkerchief as if he were a weeping maiden. Alfred laughs in his reverie causing his brother, Lieutenant Matthew Williams, to give him a sideways glance. Alfred waves him off and now attempts to search for the Brit to share in the memory once more.

             However, it being sometime just before or after midnight, Alfred couldn’t see far ahead. _He must have rockets strapped to his legs._ Alfred instead decides to bother his brother, having nothing better in mind. Matthew was sketching, something he picked up from his French adoptive mother. The paper held a detailed drawing of a helmet.

             “ _Boring._ ” Alfred whined, snatching the pencil from his hand.

             “Al-“ Matthew complained, trying to save his precious artwork.

             It was too late, Alfred had already begun drawing.  He scribbled in comically huge eyebrows and an angered expression. In a speech bubble he wrote: “Get in position wankers, I’m late for crumpets and tea!” This earned a chuckle from Matthew until he stopped abruptly. Alfred looked to his left only to see the very bushy eyebrowed general he had just drawn; and he was glaring.

             “Mattie, how could you!” Alfred exclaimed, shoving the drawing in Matthew’s hands. “Drawing the General like that, undignified!”

             Arthur slapped Alfred in the back of the head.

             “The Central Powers have called a cease-fire until morning. Have your men get some rest; shifts begin at 6am sharp.” He said.

             Alfred nodded and then smiled, remembering his original plan to find him. “Hey Arthur, remember when you cried when you became a General? You scared Alice so bad, she thought someone died!” He laughed.

             Matthew chuckled and a few of the other soldiers were looking. A dust of pink brushed over Arthur’s cheeks.

             “No I don’t remember that.” He scrubbed at his cheeks and moved away quickly with a scowl on his face that made the soldiers look away.

             Matthew patted Alfred on the shoulder. “Get some rest.”

             Alfred sighed. Arthur was a difficult person to like. More so if you were a private, after all, general-private relationships were almost always professional and rarely friendly. However, even if you were of a high rank, Arthur was still a non-sociable prick.

             On the surface, he’s rather cynical. Everyone in war is. He appears pompous—which Alfred believes to just be the association to the accent. He seems harsh and distant, always working at his desk alone and staying late hours at the base.

             If any of this is true, it is only slightly, for if you get to know him, he is actually quite different. Arthur is blunt and honest, preferring to “not be caught in a web of lies like those damn British spies”. He is superstitious and cautious, but on the battlefield he is loyal and fearless. He is extremely nostalgic and loves the few friends he has until the end.

             Alfred laughs as he remembers the small details. Arthur standing at the very edge of the pool in fear because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t know how to swim. The day he woke Alfred up because he thought Private Harry “Hairy” Spielman was Bigfoot in the distance. The morning Arthur attempted to have Alfred taste scones but burnt them.

             Alfred was in love.

\--

             It was about three in the morning and Alfred was officially aggravated with himself. Honestly, only (not even) three hours of sleep? He was pretty sure that the bags under his eyes would soon become permanent. Alfred sighed and walked over the sea of sleeping soldiers to get to his brother.

             Matthew was fast asleep in an upright position. The way his head slumped and his shoulders protruded forward looked extremely uncomfortable – and quite a bit silly. His helmet was hanging sideways on his head and he was beginning to drool. Alfred silently chuckled and reached for Matthew’s canteen, taking a swig. How could his brother always get to sleep when he couldn’t? It must be his nerves.

             “Oi.” A barely-whisper said behind him.

             Alfred turned to see Arthur slinking forward with a blanket wrapped around him.

             “What are you doing up you twat?” He questioned, hitting Alfred in the arm. “I know you have insomnia, but honestly, you’re a General get some sleep once in a while.”

             Alfred looked him up and down.

             “Look who’s talking! You look like you just woke up and took the bed with you.” He retorted.

             “Germany’s colder than England.” He wrapped the blanket tighter around him. “Nevertheless, I’ve been planning, strategizing; being the only true General here. All this thinking’s been keeping me up.”

              Alfred pouted. “Your brain’s too small to think.”

             “Your mouth’s too big to shut up.”

             “Will you two go flirt somewhere else? I’m trying to sleep.” Matthew murmured, cracking his back.

             Alfred punched him in the shoulder and Arthur dragged him away. They found a small empty space only a few steps away and sat in it, careful not to disturb the soldiers who were fast asleep. Arthur leaned back and stared at the sky; Alfred, not knowing what else to do, did the same.

             After a few long minutes a strong wind blew through the trench, causing Alfred to shiver. Next thing he knew, he had a blanket thrown onto him unceremoniously.

             “New York may be cold, but it’s nothing to England; certainly not Germany.” Arthur explained.

             “But it’s yours.” Alfred said, although not really wanting to part with it.

             Instead he draped half of it over Arthur (which really only covered up half of his body).

             “This blanket’s too small.” Alfred complained.

             “It’s a free military blanket, it’s only supposed to fit one person. Where’s yours?”

             “I lost a bet with Mattie.”

             “Idiot.”

             However, he didn’t refuse the blanket; rather, he pulled it up higher to cover his arms. After that they stayed silent for a long time, looking at the stars above. It was such a long silence that Alfred had thought he went to sleep.

             “Arthur, do you know any constellations?” He waited a few moments. “Arthur?”

             “Sorry, I was just thinking about how stupid that question was.” Arthur replied, although in a groggy tone—as if he were tired and didn’t want to admit it.

             “Hey!” Alfred exclaimed, shoving him.

             “Honestly, worrying about stars when we’re in a war zone.”

             “It’s a cease-fire, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

             “Honestly, how did you even become a General? You’re mental.”

             “I think you’d know considering you were teary eyed at my ceremony as well.”

             “I was not.”

             This time Alfred received a shove.

             “Yuh-huh, Kiku kept looking at you. I think you were weirding him out, maybe it’s a Japanese thing.”

             “Anyone randomly crying would weird anyone out, not just Japanese people. Honestly, Al-”

             “So you admit you were crying?”

             “No I was just defending General Honda.”

             “Pretty sure as soon as you faint on a guy after seeing him eat squid you’re allowed to say his first name.”

             “ _Nearly_ faint. I was simply dizzy. Plus, that thing was just wriggling around, if you’re going to eat something at least kill it first.”

             “It _was_ dead, it’s just a trick.”

             Arthur pouted and looked back to the sky, apparently done with talking.

             “The Plough.” He said after a moment.

             “What?”

             “The Plough.” He repeated. “One of the most popular constellations, even _you_ should know it.”

             “Never heard of it. Where is it?”

             Arthur pointed and began tracing a line. “A little bit above the tip of that tall tree over there is the bottom. See?”

             Alfred began to trace his own line. “ _Oh_. The Big Dipper?”

             “What the hell is a dipper?”

             “Y’know, like a ladle.”

             “Americans go around calling ladles ‘dippers’?”

             “Well no… I guess dipper just sounds better than the Big Ladle. It’s better than a plough though, it’s obviously a spoon-y shape.”

             “My cousin up North calls it a wagon. It’s got a handle, which you have too, but what ladle has a box shape on the end of it?”

             “One that’s American.”

             “That’s a lie.”

             “How would you know?”

             “I’ve been in America half my life.”

             Alfred pouted.

             “Why did you join the military, Artie?”

             “It’s mandatory in England.”

             “So why stay this long?”

             Arthur shrugged. “Why did you?”

             Alfred’s answer was easy. The first few years was because of a draft. After that, every time he heard Arthur signed for another year, he would sign too. The only way he’d be able to see him often would be in the army. After all, his family wasn’t rich enough to travel to England and back many times just to visit a friend and neither was Arthur. Also, the fact that Arthur would spend another year in the military alone (aka another year of potential death) made Alfred sick to his stomach.

             “Family.” He answered vaguely.

             Arthur’s lips went into a thin line, he knew it was a lie.

             “Matthew could’ve left, too. He’s probably only here because of you. After that, nothing else is keeping you here.”

             Alfred stayed silent and glanced around the trench. While many soldiers were asleep, there were still quite a few awake—cleaning equipment or chattering lightly. He couldn’t say it, if someone heard him he’d be hated. He’d be looked down upon as that “gay general” and never be listened to. What’s even worse is if Arthur didn’t feel the same. He would be devastated, their friendship would be ruined, and Arthur would be disgusted.

             “I have a lot of reasons for being here.” Arthur continued, and Alfred didn’t have the heart to look at him. “Peter needs the money, mum needs the benefits, although most importantly is I need to keep my soldiers in line.”

             It was then that Alfred felt a hand move into his under the blanket.

             “I can’t have another General take my place and screw everything up.”

             Alfred finally looked at Arthur and noticed that under all the grime, he was blushing. Then he realized, he was too.

             “Your hand feels gross.” Alfred commented, pretending to begin to take his hand away.

             He had to admit that even though Arthur’s hand was calloused, dirty, sweaty, and slightly bloody, he didn’t want to let go. Arthur had the same idea and squeezed his hand.

             “You’re no porcelain doll either.”

             They both smirked and settled their heads back, tilting ever so slightly towards each other.

             “See the constellation under the Big Dipper? It’s kind of connected to it?” Alfred questioned.

             “Yeah, Ursa Major.”

             “Yeah, got any weird British image for that?”

             “It’s just a bloody big bear.”

             At that, Alfred doubled over in laughter, Arthur following suit (much to the dismay of the exhausted soldiers next to them). One soldier even went through the trouble to shout a lovely “shut the hell up”.

             They sat in silence the rest of the night, alternating between looking up at the sky, each other, and the back of their eyelids. After a while, the both were happily asleep (if only for another two hours).


End file.
